


Awakenings

by CatMoran (akaCat)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Depression, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-06-24
Updated: 2000-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaCat/pseuds/CatMoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obligatory epilogue to TSbyBS, Blair is out of the police academy and a Detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last Straw

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to: Kaki and my mom, for their comments and feedback on the final draft.
> 
> This assumes Blair carries a revolver, only because I'm more familiar with revolvers.

The gentle tap-tap-tap of fingers on a keyboard woke him; Jim smiled and opened his eyes, preparing a friendly early-morning insult for his hard-working Guide.

As white ceiling tiles slowly came into focus and he realized he was not in his bed in the loft, the sound resolved into the reality of rain striking the pavement below. This was immediately followed by awareness of pain near his right temple. Turning his head toward the sound of soft snoring, he saw Simon's large frame sprawled in the too-small, visitor's chair. Toward the head of the bed he could see several monitors blinking. One he recognized as a heart monitor, the others he dismissed.

"Captain?"

"Mph."

"Captain."

"Whazzit."

"Simon!"

"What! Oh. Jim. Sorry, I guess I dozed off. How're you feeling?" Simon sat up and scooted the chair closer to the bed, then buzzed for the nurse.

Jim considered this for a moment. "I've got a headache, and things seem a touch blurry. I think we can skip the classic 'where am I,' but the last thing I remember is going to bed last night--That was last night, wasn't it?"

Simon slumped almost imperceptibly in the chair. "Damn. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me what happened. Yes, it was last night. You were shot. Could have been a lot worse, it just grazed your scalp. Still, you had the Doctor a bit worried, with you being unconscious this long. I figured you were zoned, but I wasn't sure..."

"'You' weren't sure? What'd Sandburg say?"

"...."

"Captain?"

"You're sure you don't remember anything?" Simon had an almost pleading look on his face.

Jim sighed. "Captain, would I be asking if I knew? Please, just answer the question."

"He's upstairs. Psych Ward."

"*Psych* Ward?! *Why*? What the hell happened?" A pained look crossed his face, "what did I fail to protect him from, this time?"

"It appears that he shot you. A neighbor heard the gunshot and called 911."

Jim lay in stunned silence, trying to digest the information.

"Blair. Shot me."

"I think so."

"And he's in the Psych Ward."

"That's right."

"Has he said anything? And *what* happened?"

"No. He's completely non-responsive. Doesn't do anything, hasn't said a word. As for what happened, all we know so far, is the uniforms who responded had to break down the door." Simon shifted in his chair and looked away briefly before continuing. "They found Sandburg sitting on his bed, holding his service revolver, and you lying on the floor in front of him, with a nasty-looking scalp wound."

"Shit."

"Yup."

"So, what're we going to do?"

"Well, *you're* going to recover and remember what happened. I'm going to try to figure out what happened, and dodge the DA and IA and the Police Chief until then."

"And Sandburg?"

"I haven't a clue."

* * *

Jim was just finishing his 'delicious' dessert of off-brand lime gelatin when he heard familiar footsteps approaching his room. "Captain, it's about time. What have you found out?"

Simon dropped into the visitor's chair and produced a cigar from his coat pocket. "Nice to see you too, Jim. I take it you haven't remembered anything? You look better."

"The doctors spent the day confirming that I've got a concussion and I'm recovering from blood loss. I'm just glad they've unhooked those blamed monitors, the blinking was about to drive me crazy. And no, I haven't remembered anything. You know I'd have called you, if I had."

"Of course. Forensics finished their report."

"And?"

"The only bullet in the room was fired from Sandburg's revolver. The only prints on the grip are his-"

"On the grip? There are other prints?"

"Your prints are on the barrel."

"So I grabbed his revolver, before, or as, he fired it."

"Looks that way."

"What about the trajectory?"

"It was fired from where Sandburg was sitting; it was aimed just to the right of where your head would be if you were standing in front of him where you fell."

"So... He may have been defending himself."

"From you? That's hard to believe, Jim."

"Is it, Sir? I have no memory of the shooting, anything could have happened."

"I just don't buy it."

"And you can buy Blair shooting me? It's the only thing that makes sense, Blair would never shoot without provocation."

"There's also the Psychiatrist's report to consider."

Jim sat forward, and immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness and nausea hit him. Simon moved to steady him and help him lean back. "Whoa there, Jim. That's not a good idea with a head injury."

"It's just a concussion, Captain. And don't change the subject. Why didn't you tell me you'd spoken with Blair's doctor?"

"Maybe because you interrupted me and I hadn't gotten to it?" Simon sighed and returned to his chair. "And because I'm still trying to digest it myself," said in a mutter that only a sentinel could hear.

"Out with it." Even lying down, Jim could make people forget who was the boss.

"Right. Well. His condition is called catatonia. He's not responding to anything, although he may be aware of everything that's happening. It can be caused by a prolonged period of isolation or depression... or schizophrenia." On the last word, Simon looked down at the cigar he was worrying in his hands.

"Captain, Blair is not schizophrenic. What are they doing to treat him?"

"What else could it be? He's certainly not isolated, and he's too damn bouncy to be depressed. Unfortunately, he's in the age range for onset of schizophrenia. As for treatment, they've got him on an IV to prevent dehydration, and they're administering anti-depressants--that's a common treatment regardless of the cause. If he doesn't respond soon, they'll consider electric shock treatment."

"*Simon*!"

Jim flipped off his covers and sat up. Simon dropped his cigar and stood, pushing Jim back and pinning him to the bed with little more than a look.

"Jim, *calm* down and lie back down! Now listen to me." Simon sat down and rushed to explain. "This isn't a harmless condition, and electric shock treatments have changed a lot since the bad old days that you, and I, remember from movies. The patient is sedated, and the treatment is very precise. There is slight memory loss, but it's a generally temporary condition, and much better than the mental and physical degradation that will occur if the catatonia isn't reversed. And they'll only use it if he doesn't respond to the medication."

"Captain..." Jim looked up, his eyes suspiciously bright. Simon leaned forward and rested his hand on Jim's shoulder.

"I know, Jim. I'll watch out for him. You get some sleep, the sooner you can take over the job, the better we'll both feel."

* * *

The wolf ran through the jungle, gaining speed as it darted through the heavy underbrush. Suddenly, it leapt into--no, in front of--a panther. The arrow flying toward the panther connected with the breast of the wolf. With a gasp, the wolf collapsed to the ground.

&lt;&lt;Blair!&gt;&gt;

Jim woke with a barely suppressed scream, and struggled against the urge to find and protect his Guide. As he waited for his heart and breathing to slow from the nightmare, he remembered.

* * *

"Banks."

"Captain, it's Jim. I remember what happened."

"...it's 5 a.m. Give me an hour."

"I'll see you then, sir."

* * *

"Jim, are you ready to give me your statement?" Pleasantries were abandoned, in the hope that what he was about to hear would erase the charges pending against half of his best team.

"Well, I can tell you what happened."

"Ok, shoot." Simon remained standing, and turned on his pocket voice recorder.

"I had a dream last night-"

Simon turned the recorder off. "Jim, you woke me up for a dream?"

"Just let me finish? Trust me, it's a short story."

"Fine, fine. So, you had a dream."

"Right. Blair's spirit guide died. More to the point, his guide sacrificed himself to save my spirit guide. And when I woke up, I remembered that I had the same dream 2 nights ago..." At this point, Simon turned the recorder back on.

* * *

Two nights ago:

The wolf ran through the jungle, gaining speed as it darted through the heavy underbrush. Suddenly, it leapt into--no, in front of--a panther. The arrow flying toward the panther connected with the breast of the wolf. With a gasp, the wolf collapsed to the ground.

&lt;&lt;Blair!&gt;&gt;

Jim woke with a barely suppressed scream. As he waited for his heart and breathing to slow from the nightmare, he heard a gun being cocked. Before the sound fully registered, Jim had his own gun out of the bedside drawer and was down the stairs, moving quickly toward the sound.

He was horrified by the sight that greeted him in his Guide's bedroom--Blair, sitting on his bed, mouth open, service revolver *in* *his* *mouth*...

...Jim leapt for the gun and yanked the barrel away from Blair, as the world exploded...

* * *

"Sandburg-"

"-didn't shoot me. He was about to shoot himself. I stopped him, but nearly got myself nailed in the process. I guess the shock of seeing me go down, is what shut him down."

"Why?" Simon shut off the recorder and collapsed into the chair, a look of puzzled grief and shock on his face. "Nothing's happened recently, there was the warehouse district shooting 2 weeks ago, but he was cleared of that almost immediately."

"He... I think... he was finishing what started 8 months ago."

"8 months ago... at the academy?"

"No, sir, at the press conference."

"But why now? I thought, everything was ok."

"It wasn't. He wasn't. I know he likes working in Major Crimes, but when it became his only option... and he had to carry a gun... he doesn't want the power of life and death over other people. It's just not his way. That's for a Sentinel to bear; a Shaman is a teacher, a healer."

"So why now?" Simon said in low voice.

"A few days ago, the perp he shot, died. 3 days ago, there was an obituary in the paper, listing the guy's survivors. Including an infant daughter. I think that was the last straw."

"He's not schizophrenic."

"No, Simon."

"He won't be back on the force without a lot of counseling."

"He won't be back. I'll make sure he has a better alternative this time."

"You still zone, sometimes."

"I know. Maybe it's time I followed him."

"Is that what a sentinel does?"

"It'll be what this sentinel does."


	2. Equilibrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "The Last Straw".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Roland E. Erikson, M.D. for the Psychiatric details; and Robyn and her Cascade Hospital website for the rest of the medical background. Thanks to Erika and my mom for beta reading. All remaining errors, oversights and obfuscations are the fault of myself and my muse.

He was at the bottom of a deep shaft. This did not worry him, as it was not unusual. The shaft, or pit, or in his more literary moments, oubliette, had been with him much of his life. The depth changed: shallow, then deep, sometimes frequently; but it was always there. The last few days the irregular circle of sky had grown much smaller, much faster than ever before. That had finally driven him to attempt an escape.

He had not succeeded.

Something had changed, though. He could no longer see the small circle of sky, and he no longer thought of escape. No, things were very quiet and peaceful now. It was as if a dark, viscous liquid filled the shaft, buoying him just above the floor. It obscured all sight, all sound, all feeling. It dulled his thoughts, allowing them to float, just as his body seemed to. It obscured his memoriessomehow, he knew this was for the best. There was something he knew he should not remember...

* * *

Jim's concussion was a bit worse than he'd experienced before, or perhaps the dizziness was due to blood loss. As a result, nearly two full days had passed since he and Blair had been brought to the hospital, and he had yet to see his friend. He felt that he was being perfectly reasonable in agreeing to remain confined to a wheelchair for the visit. His doctor did not share his opinion.

"Mr. Ellison, I am not a fool. You've proven on past visits to this hospital that you will not stay in a wheelchair; therefore, you *will* stay in that bed. When you are sufficiently recovered to leave that bed, then you may visit your friend." Dr. Rollins had experience with this patient, and knew that to give an inch would be to court disaster.

Jim turned to his Captain, who had arrived moments before with an early dinner. "Simon, can't you speak to her for me?"

"Oh, so I'm 'Simon' now, am I? And why should I speak to her?" Simon could guess what the disagreement was about; despite Jim's worry yesterday at not remembering what had happened, his desire to visit Blair had still been his primary concern. Simon felt for Jim, but he also knew the detective deserved his reputation in the hospital.

"Because you could bbst..." Jim's voice trailed off in a mumble.

"What was that Detective? You'll have to speak up."

"I *said*," Jim growled, "because you could promise to watch me."

"That's strange, I could have sworn you said 'babysit', the first time." Simon grinned around his unlit cigar.

The bait was taken, and Jim gently reeled in his friend with another mock growl. "Well, Captain?"

"I think it's up to your doctor. And if she knows you as well as I suspect she does, she won't go for it." Simon directed a brilliant smile at the doctor.

The doctor blinked at the mega-watt smile. "Well... I'll agree. *Provided*," she glared at Jim, "*you* stay seated at all times, and allow your Captain-"

"Please, call me Simon," he volunteered, with another smile.

"-Simon," she smiled back, "to do everything elsethis includes propelling the chair, opening doors, and any jumping or running you may feel inclined to engage in."

"Agreed," Jim responded with a smug grin.

"*Simon*," Dr. Rollins turned her attention back to the Captain, and managed to give the impression that she was not looking up to face him. "It is your responsibility to see to it that Mr. Ellison follows these rules. Do you think you can handle him?"

Simon's smile turned slightly feral as he faced Jim, "Oh, I can guarantee it. Because if he doesn't behave, it'll be a week before he leaves this roomand I'll see to it that no one brings him take-out. *Right*, Jim?"

"Yes, sir," Jim's smile lost its smug tone, but remained in place.

A wheelchair was found and a time limit set. Within the hour, Jim Ellison sat next to Blair's bed, watching his guide. If not for the even respiration, Blair would have been entirely motionless. It was an unnatural condition for the younger man, Jim thought.

"He's so still." Simon pulled up a chair to sit by Jim.

Jim nodded his agreement, never looking away from Blair.

"Has his doctor had a chance to talk to you?"

Jim sat back and wiped a hand across his face, "Yeah, Dr. Burke seems pretty optimistic. A week or so of drug therapy and Blair should be out of this catatonic state he's in."

"And what about the rest of it?"

"You mean, why he tried to eat his gun? Or why he's been depressed?" Jim leaned forward again, stroking the back of his hand across his guide's cheek, leaving his hand to rest on Blair's arm.

"Both. Either. They're the same thing, aren't they?" Simon asked, shrugging.

"I guess. Dr. Burke says that the drugs will help with that in the short term, and therapy will take care of the rest of it. He says the therapy may even help while he's in this state... but, Simon, I don't think Blair's here at all." With that, Jim looked over at his Captain, desperation in his eyes.

"This isn't something you could protect him from, Jim."

"I don't believe that. I saw him... collapsing, and I didn't do anything to stop it."

"But, you did stop it. If you hadn't stopped it, Blair wouldn't be here at all. He has a chance to recover, and you gave him that chance. Remember that, OK?"

Jim nodded.

Simon thought that Jim would feel better if he had a little time alone with his partner. "Do you want some coffee? I thought I'd run down to the cafeteria for a few minutes."

"No, thanks. Do you think Dr. Bligh would approve of you abdicating your responsibility?" Jim offered a wry grin.

"Ha ha, very funny, Jim. I think Dr. *Rollins* won't mind, as long as you behave yourself. But just to be safe, let's not tell her, OK?" Simon grinned and winked, walking out of the room.

Jim smoothed Blair's hair away from his face. It was unnecessary, as short as the younger man's hair was now, but somehow Jim felt better with the contact. "Hey Blair, how're you doing, buddy? Your doctor says you can probably hear me. What say you wake up, and we'll get out of here? Maybe go do some fishing. We haven't had much time for that lately.

"You are planning to wake up, right? I mean, before, that was just... a fluke, an accident. You weren't planning to-to leave me alone here, were you? You've got to know, I don't care what we do from here... I already told Simon, I won't be back at the station if it's something you can't do. But I can't handle this sentinel stuff without you.

"You know, I spent my whole life avoiding depending on other people. When the sentinel thing started and you showed up, I figured I was stuck with you. But you know, I've really gotten to like being stuck with you. And not just because I need you, either. I really like working with you, full-time. I know it's pretty selfish, but I'm glad my job became *our* job. And I'm just as happy that my home became our home. Now, you've got to hurry up and come back, because I don't think I want to go back there by myself, you know?"

Jim was barely aware of Simon's return. Simon, for his part, retreated to a corner and concentrated on his coffee. Jim continued to talk to Blair until it was time for him to return to his own room.

* * *

The next day, Simon arrived with a promised bag of tandoori chicken for supper. "Jim, how're you feeling?"

"Fine, sir. I'll be out of here sometime tomorrow." The enticing scent of the food vied with the sentinel's desire to hurry up and visit Blair, now that his 'escort' had arrived.

"Bullshit. I spoke with your doctor. She told me about the damage they discovered to your inner ear. She said she doesn't expect the dizziness to clear up for at least a few more days." Simon pulled the bedside table between Jim's bed and the chair, and started setting out the food.

Jim glared at his Captain. "What? How dare she discuss that with you? Just because you've been making eyes at her-"

"Ellison! Settle down! She *told* me because I'm your supervisor, and it's an injury that the hospital routinely reports to the department. You know you won't be cleared for duty if you're not on par with your hearing or balance. Now, she may have been a little premature in telling me before you've been released from the hospital, but it is still perfectly legitimate." Simon matched Jim's glare.

Jim backed down. "Sorry, Captain. I'm just not happy with people knowing-"

"-that you're human? Common problem in this line of work. Apology accepted."

"Well, I do expect to be out of here tomorrow. The doctor says she'll let me out as soon as I prove that I can stand up and walk without falling over, and I've got a PT appointment in the morning. Think you could bring me a change of clothes?"

"That optimistic, are you? Sure, I'll stop by your place tonight and swing by here on my way to the station tomorrow morning. Come on, let's eat this bird before we go visit the kid."

For several minutes they concentrated on dinner, each lost in his own thoughts. Simon finally asked the question that had been nagging him since he'd spoken with Jim's doctor. "So, what were the results of your hearing exam?"

"Your snitch didn't include that information? Better up your pay. My hearing's 100% in my left ear, and 30% in my right." Jim spoke carefully around a mouthful of spicy chicken.

"30%? That doesn't sound good," Simon frowned. "When are they retesting?"

"Probably Friday. Dr. Rollins thinks that any temporary shock to the nerves will have worn off by then."

"That's only three days from now. How's the dizziness?"

"I don't know that I'd call it dizziness, but my sense of balance is still out of whack. I think it'll be OK as long as I can see which end is up. And with my sight that shouldn't be much of a problem."

Simon nodded and returned to his dinner.

Twenty minutes later, Simon swung the door to Blair's room open with one hand and propelled Jim's wheelchair though with the other. "Well, I see the IV is gone. I guess that means the kid is doing better?"

"His doctor says that he's showing some improvement. He's not really doing anything for himself, but they've been able to get him to eat when they feed him."

"That's good, I guess." Simon parked Jim's chair next to the bed. "You know, I still can't figure why I didn't notice the kid's depression before. I'm supposed to be trained to notice things, how'd I miss an enthusiastic guy sinking into depression?"

Jim shrugged, "No offense, Captain, but you bought into his public persona years ago, and you've never really changed your image of him."

"Granted, the kid has settled down over the last few years..."

"He didn't settle down, sir, he just let you see more of the real Blair Sandburg." Simon started to interrupt, and Jim gestured to him to stop. "Wait, hear me out on this. Do you really think that someone as flighty as the Blair you met 4 years ago could have been a respected teacher? Or an effective observer of different cultures?"

Simon put on a thoughtful look and settled back to listen.

Jim continued, "Hell, Simon, he's been on his own since he was 16. The Blair I've seen at home for the last 3 years is quiet, introspective and very focused. Now, he gets excited whenever he gets the chance to teach, or learn about something new; but the flighty, talk-your-head-off Blair was mostly a cover that he tailored for his work in the PD."

Simon had to interrupt at that. "You're saying that he thought he'd blend in best if he acted irresponsible? That's just plain nuts, Jim."

"Not irresponsible, sir. A little impulsive, and frequently ignorant when he first started observing, but never irresponsible," Jim corrected him. "Think about it, what were you expecting when you first saw him? What was that you called him, a hippie-"

"Neo-hippie flower child."

"Yeah, that's right. He saw the sort of impression he was making with you, so he lived up to it and faded into the woodwork. When we had no expectations that he'd be able to make a competent contribution to the department, that just helped him observe unimpeded."

Simon shook his head. "Jim, are you sure you aren't the anthropologist? Anyway, he did*does*make a contribution, and he's a good detective. Even before he got his badge."

Jim snorted, "I'm just a cop, that was the short version of a lecture Blair gave me. Right after he explained that he'd 'gone native' and become my partner, instead of just observing like he was supposed to do."

"OK, so he's really an introvert. And I'm Marie Antoinette. That still doesn't explain my missing depression severe enough that he'd try to kill himself."

Jim grimaced, "At least you have the excuse that you weren't living with him. Anyway, we can't change what happened."

"Funny, I thought that's what I'd been trying to tell you."

"Well, you're the Captain. I guess you're entitled to be right once in a while."

* * *

The liquid was becoming clearer, less substantial. He was more aware of his body, and was beginning to see and hear things outside of the pit. He was also beginning to remember.

One memory stood out. He was standing in an alley, aiming his revolver at a man standing in the shadows. Over and over, he saw the man raise an arm and point something at him, felt his fingers squeeze the trigger, and saw the man fall to the pavement. He would walk toward the man, then turn him onto his back.

The memory always faded away at that point; he still hadn't seen the man's face. He was torn between escaping from the memory, and trying to identify the man he'd shot.

* * *

"Jim, congratulations!" Simon strode into Blair's room with a wide grin on his face.

Jim looked up from the magazine that he'd been reading to his guide. "Congratulations for what, Captain?"

"I ran into Becer, Dr. Rollins on the way up. She said your latest audiogram shows 100% hearing in your right ear! That's a pretty amazing improvement, I think."

Jim smirked. "Yes, it's amazing what turning up my hearing will do, isn't it?"

Simon stared at Jim. "You mean, your hearing hasn't changed? Why OK, hold on just a minute. One," Simon held up one finger to illustrate, "why did you leave your hearing turned down on the first test, and two," Simon held up another finger, "why did you *then* turn it up on today's test?"

"Because, Captain, *one*," Jim mimicked, "I left my hearing at normal for the first test because *I* wanted a meaningful measurement of the damage; and *two*, I turned my hearing up today to see how well I could compensate. Not as well as I'd hoped, but it'll do. I'd like to compare Tuesday's results at the same level, see if my hearing's actually improving. But there's no way to do that without it looking odd, so I'll just have to wait until Blair can run some tests."

"Well. That makes sense." Simon pulled the other chair up next to Jim's and sat down. He noted, with a slight frown, that it was a wooden chair, unlike the more comfortable looking upholstered chair that Jim occupied. "So, any improvement with your balance?"

"It's better, but I won't be walking around blind-folded anytime soon. Of course, I didn't let the doctor know that. She thinks I'm better."

"Jim!" Simon glared at the other man.

"Yes, sir?" Jim replied with a bland look.

"Don't you think it's pretty stupid, hiding something like that from your doctor?"

"What's she going to do, give me a dose of 'Dizzy-B-Gone'? With my hearing at 100% she assumed that the dizziness was gone. If I tell her I'm still a little off kilter, it would just give her more reason to put me under a microscope," Jim argued in an even voice.

Simon slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair. "I don't buy it. You don't want to know how well you can compensate, you just want to get a clean bill of health. I'm warning you, I'm not letting you back in the field until you can walk a straight line*with* a blindfold. Of course, *officially* you're fine, so I don't know how I'm going to explain a continued medical leave"

Jim held up a hand and calmly interrupted. "Captain, do you see me asking to go back on duty? No. We both know that without Blair I'll just be riding a desk. I'd just as soon take a personal leave, at least until Blair's out of the hospital and he and I can discuss what we're going to do next."

"Good. You've got enough vacation time piled up to take half the year off, anyway." Simon craned his neck to look at the magazine still held in the other man's hand. "What's that you were reading to Sandburg? 'Utne Reader'? It looks like something he'd subscribe to."

"Actually, sir, it's mine. He got me hooked on it. Last time it came up for renewal, I paid for it. Seemed fair, since I always got around to reading it before he did. At least, back when he was juggling two jobs."

"I always knew the kid would drag you into the Sandburg Zone. I just hope it's not contagious."

* * *

He had a face now, to go with the body. Jim. It was Jim, his sentinel. His partner. Somehow, he'd done the unthinkable, he'd killed his best friend. He regretted the knowledge. This was worse than what he'd been trying to escape from. Before, he'd felt grief for a man who, truth be told, had no future and was endangering the future of others. He was aware that some of that grief had been for himself, for the loss of his own innocence.

Now he was beyond grief, and he knew he was truly damned. Jim was a man with a future, as well as the future of every person he could have, would have, protected.

He now knew that this peaceful place was his own hell. Perhaps, if he tried, he could escape from his memories...

Gradually, the dark, comforting buffer returned. Awareness receded, and he floated.

* * *

Blair's initial improvement vanished almost overnight. Dr. Burke was still optimistic, saying simply that many patients don't respond to the first medication and that it was time to try another. Jim was a little less hopeful, seeing his friend with the IV reinstated and a gastric tube added to the medical equipment Blair relied on.

Life settled into a pattern for Jim. He got up, ate breakfast, and arrived at the hospital before visiting hours. He didn't read the newspaper over breakfast, he saved it to share with Blair. He split his day between reading his favorite books to Blair and coaxing the younger man to respond. His strong voice filled the room for hours at a time. At the end of the day, he would say goodnight to his best friend and return to the empty loft, hoping that the next day would bring a change.

The only change in the following weeks was a gradual wearing down of Jim's nerves, not that he let it show around Blair. He felt that he should be doing something to rescue Blair, to bring him back, but there was nothing else he could do. Intellectually he knew it, but that was no help. Blair needed him, that was obvious, but how could he reach him?

After two weeks of no improvement in Blair's condition, Dr. Burke suggested that they try another treatment option. The following Wednesday morning, Simon found himself sitting in a waiting room, figuratively holding the hand of a frantic sentinel.

"Jim, will you stop pacing and try to calm down? You're making me dizzy! Not to mention the hole you're wearing in the linoleum..."

Jim glared at his Captain and continued pacing.

Simon continued. "Dr. Burke called Dr. Farber in because he's an expert in electroshock treatments. You told me that yourself. They'll do it, Sandburg will be fine, and we'll all be able to get back to work."

"Feel free to go back to work now, Captain," Jim snapped, halting in his tracks to turn on the other man.

"Dammit Jim, you know what I mean. I miss Blair, too, and it sounds like this has a good chance of working."

"Fine, sure. Anyway, he *won't* be 'fine'. Farber said it would take at least three, maybe four treatments before we'd see any improvement. That's over a *week* before we'll know if it's doing any good."

"Jim, if the treatment has got you this upset, then why on earth did you approve it? You did approve it, right? I don't see Naomi here, so I assume you're still the kid's medical contact." Simon tried to reason with Jim.

"I *approved* it because nothing else is working!" Jim all but roared and resumed pacing. "There's been no response to the drugs; and less than no response, if that's even possible, to the therapy. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he's just not *there* anymore. If this will get him back, finebut that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with it.

"Speaking of Naomi, I haven't heard anything from her. I thought you were trying to contact her?" Jim directed a frown at his Captain.

Simon thought for a moment before answering. "I was. Am. And Rhonda's been helping me. We've each gone through that contact list you gave me half a dozen times, none of her friends will admit to seeing her."

Jim narrowed his eyes and faced Simon. "'Admit' to seeing her? What aren't you telling me, sir?"

"Nothing Jim," Simon sighed, "nothing at all. There isn't anything to tell you, really. I've just got this feeling-"

"-Yes?"

"How long has it been since Blair's heard from her?" Simon asked.

"Same time as any of us, not since last May." Jim returned to his pacing.

"That's what I thought. What's that phrase I heard Sandburg use once'detach with love'? It sounds like it's something she's done before."

"As far as I know, it is. Pretty sorry excuse for a mother, if you ask me. And I'd be an expert on the subject."

Simon tried to calm his friend, "Well, it's not like she knows anything's wrong. I'd say it's just a good thing that the kid's got you to take care of him."

"And what a great job I'm doing, too, Simon." Jim finally ran out of steam and dropped into a chair next to Simon, much to the relief of the other occupants of the waiting room.

Simon checked his watch, then the wall clock. "What time did they say they'd be done?"

Jim grinned a little, "Now who's worrying? Dr. Farber said the whole thing would take about an hour. The procedure itself only takes a couple of minutes."

"The shock takes just a few minutes? Why does the rest take so long?" Simon knew very little about the treatment, having spoken to Dr. Burke just the one time several weeks before.

"Part of that's the recovery time, but they also have to wait for the anesthesia and muscle relaxants to take effect before they start," Jim answered.

"He needs that even though he's completely out of it?"

Jim grimaced and looked slightly ill. "There's no way to know what he's aware of, and, aware or not, he could hurt himself during the seizure without the muscle relaxant."

* * *

Whether it lasted a millisecond or a millennium, he had no way of knowing. A violent thunderstorm moved overhead, sending shafts of lightning directly into the shaft. All was chaos, and for that moment (or eternity) the liquid that buoyed him was evaporated. First the air sparked with energy, then for a time the lightning seemed to come from within himself. It was not painful; instead it was refreshing, almost invigorating. As the storm dissipated, he sensed Jim nearby, and thought that he might be in heaven. Then all was quiet again.

* * *

In the waiting room, chaos erupted and did not dissipate so quickly.

Simon dropped to the floor next to Jim, trying to support his friend's head as he convulsed. A nurse passing by the waiting room called for a doctor, then rushed over to help Simon keep Jim from striking the magazine table that was perilously close to his head.

The seizure lasted only a minute, but to Simon it seemed to go on forever.

The doctor arrived even as Jim's body began to relax. Jim remained unconscious, but Simon was relieved to see that he began to breathe immediately. A gurney was summoned, and Jim was rushed down to the ER. Simon followed, to fill out the inevitable paperwork and wait.

It was several hours before Simon was able to see Jim. He had regained consciousness soon after arriving in the Emergency Room; the intervening time had been spent on a variety of tests. Finally, Jim was admitted to the hospital and settled in a room for rest and observation. Predictably, he was arguing to go home, or rather, back to his chair in Blair's room. "Jim, you realize they're never going to let you out of here?" Simon wore a concerned frown for his friend.

Jim rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with me. If you don't believe me, ask Dr. Rollins. They ran both an EEG and an MRI, both came out fine. No seizures, no brain damage. Now, don't you think the timing of my 'seizure' is a little odd? I'm sure it happened just as they were shocking Blair."

"I think everything about you and Sandburg is a little odd. That doesn't mean you're immune to brain injury!" Simon exclaimed.

"Captain, this has nothing to do with the knock to the head I took. That was over 3 weeks ago, and I've been fine for most of that time." Jim paused to raise the head of his bed. "When the seizure happenedI could 'feel' Blair nearby. It's the first I've been aware of *him* since the accident."

"So? Sounds like a hallucination. I'm sure people can have those during a seizure." Simon glared at Jim. "Did you tell the doctor about it?"

"Sir, in the absence of Blair, I'm the expert on sentinels around here," Jim replied, avoiding the question. "And I'm telling you, this had everything to do with my connection with Blair, and nothing to do with my own, admittedly thick, skull. It felt a little bit like what happened at the fountain... nothing that clear or dramatic-"

"You don't think that collapsing in the middle of a waiting room was dramatic?" Simon stared at Jim.

"Mentally, Simon. It wasn't as dramatic in *here*." Jim tapped his forehead. "I think there's some way to get to Blair through this. Next time he has an ECT-"

"A what?" Simon interrupted.

"ECT - Electroconvulsive Therapy. It's what the doctors call electroshock. Anyway, Friday, we need to be ready for it. It'll happen again, I know it. And somehow, I thinkno, I *know*I can use it to reach him."

Simon held up a hand. "Woah, Jim, hold on. If this is going to happen again, you are staying *here*. I'm not having you pulling some harebrained stunt and getting yourself killed."

"Captain, I was never in any danger. Sorry if it scared you, but it was just a... a *surge* across the wires. Rollins told me I was only out a few minutes, and that there's no damage from it. Did she leave anything out when she talked to me?"

"Not that I know of, but she wasn't the one watching you having convulsions! Damn, Jim, you weren't *breathing* for almost a minute, you know how scary that is to watch?" Simon was on the verge of yelling.

"Yeah, Simon, I do." Jim replied in a soft voice, thinking of a cool spring day almost two years ago, and a fountain.

"Sorry, right, so you do know," Simon dropped his voice as he apologized. "But then you also know why you're staying here if it's gonna happen again."

"Simon, if I'm right and it does happen the next time they shock Blair, then I'm also right that it's nothing to do with me, at least physically. So how about humoring me?" Jim did his best to emulate Blair's puppy-dog eyes.

"Put that look away, it doesn't work on you," Simon grinned. "Hell, it hardly ever works for Sandburg. How about you humoring me and staying here? What harm would that do?" Simon argued.

"I *can't* let them keep me here and put me on a bunch of unnecessary drugs. I don't know what that stuff could do to my senses, and Blair definitely wouldn't approve. If I'm right, and there's some way I can reach Blair through whatever this is, the drugs would definitely mess that up."

"OK, assuming that I go along with this, even though I'm not, just what do you propose to do?"

Jim did an excellent job of hiding his smirk. Sometimes Simon could be as easy to play as a large mouth bass. "I don't know yet. But I'm sure that Blair's got some notes on it. He told me, in the hospital after the fountain, that he had some ideas about the connection we made. He's got notes on everything else, he's got to have written something down about that."

"And you really think it's related?" Simon looked skeptical, but hopeful.

Jim knew he had Simon hooked now. "I hope so. Look, I'm stuck in this room for the next 24 hours if I want to avoid medication or having my driver's license suspended. That doesn't leave me much time to figure this out before Friday. Can you run over to the loft and grab some of his notes for me?"

"Yes, sahib, I live to serve." Simon aimed a mock bow toward Jim. "What makes you think I'll be able to find anything useful in that rat's nest he calls a bedroom?"

Jim thought for a minute. "Start with his journals. Last time I vacuumed in there, he had a pile of them next to the futon. I'd guess that the top one is most recent. Just get all of them from the last two years; it'll give me something to start on. If I'm lucky, whatever I need won't be cross-indexed to 23 other books."

"You mean, if *I'm* lucky. I'm the one who'll be digging through his room looking for more books." Simon started toward the door with a thoughtful look on his face. "Maybe I should get a tetanus shot first, while I'm here..."

Simon returned an hour later with a small stack of notebooks and Blair's laptop. Jim had been napping, but the sound of familiar footsteps woke him by the time Simon entered the room. "I found the journals you were talking about, and I also grabbed this," Simon hefted the laptop case in his left hand.

Jim stretched, then reached for the control to raise the bed, as Simon set the journals and computer on the bedside table. "That's great, Simon, I didn't think of that. Which one do you want to take?"

Simon sighed, "Jim, I hate to put a damper on this party, but if I don't get to the station for at least a few hours today, Taggart's liable to file a missing persons report on me. I'll stop by this evening and give you a hand, OK?"

"Sorry, sir," Jim shook his head. "I've had other things on my mind. Forgot about the PD, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. I'll come by after supper. Try to get some rest this afternoon, OK?"

"Sure. See you then." Jim already had the first journal open, grimacing at Blair's scrawling handwriting.

Several hours later, Jim knew a lot about Blair's side of their experience at the fountain, but had found nothing likely to help them now. He was developing a headache from deciphering his friend's writing, and was more than ready to take a break when Simon arrived carrying a bag of gyros.

"Evening, Jim. It was a quiet day at the station, so I got out a little sooner than I expected. Figured you might appreciate something from the 'Mad Greek'."

"Simon, you read my mind." Jim sniffed the air in appreciation, then cocked his head as he noticed something was missing. "Simon?"

"Yeah, Jim." Simon continued to pull food out of the bag. He'd realized about an hour earlier that he'd forgotten about lunch, now he was intent on making up for that oversight.

"When did you stop smoking?"

"Just now noticed, huh?" Simon's face wavered between a grimace of longing and a smug grin of pride.

Jim corrected him, "I noticed you stopped waving cigars around in the hospital a couple weeks ago. I figured you'd finally clued in that you weren't ever going to be allowed to light one up in here. But I don't smell them on you at all, which means not only are you not carrying any now, but you haven't for at least a few days."

Simon settled on the smug grin. "Well, Jim, it seems that doctors appreciate it when the people they date don't smoke."

Jim chuckled, "If you thought you were going to surprise me with *that*, don't bother. I can probably tell you the date of your first date with Dr. Rollins."

Simon's mouth dropped open, "How?"

"Well, I hope that's not *your* 'Oscar de La Renta' I've been smelling on you," Jim laughed.

"I should have known. Now, which do you want, the lamb and beef, or the lamb?" Simon offered.

"The lamb. And I hope that's baklava that I smell."

"Of course. So, what've you found?" Simon pushed one of the gyros to Jim's side of the small table, along with half the stack of napkins.

"Nothing but a headache. Woah, hold on!" he added quickly, as Simon reached for the call button. "It's just eye strain. *Really*. You know how Blair types everything that he turns in to you? Turns out there's a good reason for that."

"It figures. Have you checked out his laptop yet?"

Jim frowned, "The battery's low, and I couldn't reach an outlet." He gestured to the IV and monitors he was tethered to, in explanation.

"Soon as we've cleared this table, I'll get that plugged in for you," Simon offered.

"Thanks, Captain." Jim added, "I didn't find anything in the journals, I hope he's got some notes on the computer that'll help."

Simon demolished his gyro before speaking again. "I was thinking, checking the laptop is a one-man job; and I don't really know what it is I'm looking for. So unless you want me to go over the journals, you aren't going to need me here this evening."

"No, Captain. I've got things covered." Jim hid his disappointment; Simon had already spent the morning at the hospital, and there was no point in him staying just to watch Jim work.

"Good! Since you're stuck in here for the duration, I thought I'd head upstairs and pass the department gossip on to the kid."

Jim smiled, "Thanks, sir. I'm sure he'd like that."

* * *

Simon walked into Jim's room early the next afternoon. His friend was dressed, but definitely not ready to leave. Simon was grateful for the warning he'd received from Becka Rollins, but thought that no amount of preparation short of a guard dog training suit would be sufficient.

"*Simon*!" Jim roared as his Captain entered the room.

Simon groaned and wished for a tranquilizer gun. "Yes, Jim."

"I stayed here *24 hours*. *Twenty-four*, Simon, just as she asked." Jim was stalking the far side of the room like a caged lion.

"Right, Jim." Simon briefly considered a retreat, but he was already too far into the room and his escape route was cut off as Jim rounded the bed.

"I did *Everything* she asked. I'm claustrophobic, Simon, did you know that? I didn't, before the MRI. But I didn't complain-"

"Jim." Simon tried to interrupt.

Although Jim was addressing his Captain, he barely seemed to notice him. "-I could have spent yesterday with Blair, going through his notes without any assistance, if I'd known what it would get me!"

"Jim!"

"What is it with doctors anyway? Why couldn't she-"

"*JIM*!"

"*What*, Captain?" Simon's voice finally broke through, and Jim stopped to face his friend.

"First, *stop* yelling, this is a hospital," Simon ordered forcefully but quietly. "*Second*, this is *not* Dr. Rollins fault. She doesn't make the laws-"

"But if she'd *told* me-"

"*Don't* get started again, Jim. Or I'm out of here, and you're on your own tomorrow," Simon promised Jim, with a pointed glare.

The threat quickly rearranged Jim's priorities. He slammed his eyes shut and his jaw clenched as he tried to force himself to a calmer state.

Simon waited until Jim had calmed and opened his eyes, before continuing. "All right, Jim. Now, tell me *exactly* what Dr. Rollins told you yesterday."

Jim concentrated for a moment, remembering. "She said 'if you will stay for tests and 24 hour observation, your driver's license will not be suspended or you will not have to take anticonvulsant medication."

"'Or,' Jim? Not 'and'?" Simon questioned.

Jim considered the question for a moment then sighed, "That's right. 'Or.'" He closed his eyes in embarrassment and resignation, and dropped to sit on the bed. "I misunderstood. And made an ass of myself."

"So what else is new?" Simon chastised the other man. "Now, explain the problem to me. Taking a few pills for a few months in exchange for your driver's license seems easy enough."

Jim shook his head, "Sir, if I take the medicine it may prevent me from reaching Blair. No, the *problem* is that I'm going to be without the truck for the next 6 months. Which means I can't get to the hospital easily, or the station, if I go back." Jim opened his eyes as he spoke, and looked up at Simon.

Simon stared at Jim. Jim watched Simon, waiting for a reaction. Finally, Simon spoke, "So... does this mean you found something in the kid's notes?"

"No, sir. What it means, is I won't give up on a chance, just because I'm going on-" Jim interrupted himself to grimace, "-instinct."

"So." Simon retreated to more familiar territory, "Well, work's not a problem. I'm sure you'll qualify for medical leave for the next six months. Or there's plenty of guys who'll give you a lift, if you decide to do desk duty. It's your choice." Jim didn't respond. "I guess you'll be wanting a ride home, then?" Simon ventured.

"Actually, siryou're still planning to help me tomorrow?"

Simon nodded. "That's what I promised, yesterday."

"I was thinking... if I have another seizure, it'd better not happen here. So, it would be simpler if I stay at your place tonight, then you can drop me off here after Blair's treatment."

"I don't like that, Jim. If you get in trouble, my place is ten minutes from the hospital."

"That's ten minutes closer than the loft," Jim countered. "Besides which, if the seizures are linked to Blair's treatment, then I'm not in any physical danger. The treatments are monitored, they don't last longer than 2 or 3 minutes." Simon looked unconvinced, so Jim pulled his trump, "You know I'll just do this myself if you don't help me."

"Dammit Jim..." Simon pulled off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "*I'm* the one who needs his head examined. All right, I promised, so we'll do it your way *once*. But if you do have another seizure, you'd better have a better plan by Monday. Much more of this, and *I'll* be in the hospital."

Jim almost smiled, "At least you'll have your own doctor."

Simon snorted and put his glasses back on. "Right. So, ride?"

"No, I'd like to stay with Blair." Jim stood and walked over to the small closet to get his jacket. "Can you pick me up this evening?"

"Of course. I'll see if one of the guys is available to help move your truck. Maybe we'll get it back to the loft tonight."

"Thanks, Simon. For everything."

"Don't mention it. *Especially* around your doctor!"

Jim laughed and followed Simon out of the room.

* * *

"Jim, I don't like this." Simon paced in the crowded confines of his office/guest bedroom. "I don't have any medical training beyond basic first aid. We should have called Garcia, she was an EMT."

Jim sat on the bed, following his Captain with his eyes. "Simon, do you want to explain to her, or anyone else, why I'm 'planning' to have a seizure? Now, calm down or leave. Blair's treatment will be starting in a few minutes, and I want to be ready for it."

"OK. But I'm leaving my finger on the 9-1-1 speed dial button," Simon slowed his pacing and held his cordless phone up to illustrate.

Jim boggled at Simon, "You have a speed dial for 9-1-1?"

"Only when I have insane guests, Jim!" Simon retorted.

"Just don't do anything rash. Wait a couple minutes before you panic, OK?" Jim smiled, but his tone was serious.

"I *don't* panic-" Simon retreated to his desk chair to wait.

"Ri-ight." Jim smiled, then lay back and closed his eyes.

"-unless my home is invaded by the Sandburg Zone." Simon muttered, getting in the last word.

* * *

Lightning crackled all around him. Jim ignored it, as he followed the panther through the forest. They moved quickly, between trees and over rocky outcroppings. The lightning intensified.

Blair could see the thunderheads gathering overhead, and hear the nearby strikes. He remembered the previous storm and welcomed its return. Still, he feared leaving the security of his prison; the relief of the storm did not outweigh the agony of his memories.

The panther leaped ahead, and Jim struggled to keep up over the difficult terrain. Finally, as the storm intensified, the trees opened to a small clearing. His attention was diverted from the panther, as he sensed that his guide was nearby. He could not see Blair so he scanned the open space carefully, looking for anything large enough to conceal a man. He spotted an open well and focused his hearing on it. He hurried forward, calling Blair's name.

Blair couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd hoped to feel Jim's presence again, but had not expected to hear his voice. He looked up in time to see Jim's face eclipse the opening of the pit. He knew it wasn't real, but he could not resist the urge to call out. "Jim?"

Jim shouted with relief and reached into the well, "Blair! Come on, you've got to go back with me!"

Blair was happy to see the spirit of his sentinel, but very confused. "Go back? Where? Am I dead?" Lightning was crackling out of his body now, as it had the last time.

Jim continued to shout to be heard over the storm, "No, you're not dead! Please, you've got to take my hand!"

Blair stood, but remained out of Jim's reach. "If I'm not dead, how can I go with you?"

Jim was desperate. The storm was beginning to dissipate, why was Blair reluctant to return with him? Then realization struck him like a bolt of the lightning that still lit the sky. "Blair, listen to me! I'm not deadI'm fine! You've got to come back with me, please!" He leaned as far as he could into the well without overbalancing, but was still a foot short of reaching Blair.

Blair looked up in wonder and whispered, "I didn't kill you?"

Jim shook his head, "No, I'm fine! Please, Blair, time's running out! Come back with me!"

Blair lifted his hand to Jim's, a smile growing on his face for the first time in an eternity. He said, simply, "OK."

Before Blair's hand reached Jim, the storm receded. Jim was enveloped by a void...

* * *

"...jim? Jim?" The voice grew louder and came into focus. Jim opened his eyes and looked into the worried eyes of his friend. Simon was seated on the edge of the bed, cordless phone still held in his left hand, using his right hand to monitor the pulse in Jim's wrist. Simon saw the clarity in Jim's eyes and slumped in relief, "Thank God. Well?"

Jim sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "I need to see Blair, Simon."

Twenty minutes later, Jim strode through the doors of the recovery room and directly to Blair's bed, ignoring the incensed RN trying to block his path. He stood at the side of Blair's bed and gently stroked his guide's cheek. "Blair? Remember your promise? Time to come back, OK?"

A minute passed, then another. Blair stirred, but did not wake. Jim continued to talk to his friend, coaxing him to respond.

Simon arrived a few minutes later, after parking the car. He glanced at his friends, then directed his attention to distracting the nurse, who was about to call security.

Blair's eyes drifted open and wandered for a moment before connecting with Jim's. "jim?" His voice was quiet and rough from disuse, but perfectly clear to a sentinel's ears.

Jim's face lit up with a brilliant smile. "Welcome back, Chief. Welcome back."


	3. Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's thoughts following "Equilibrium".

This has been a day of mixed feelings. Most of them very positive. Seeing Blair's eyes *looking* at me for the first time in weeks, and hearing his voice... Because I had an audience (no, not Simon or the nurse, *him*), I restrained myself to the biggest smile I could manage without breaking my face.

He's asleep, now. But he's *here*. I can see his eyes moving behind his eyelids. And his fingers twitching. And even when he's not dreaming, there's something intangible that lets me know that it's just sleep, that he'll wake up.

A couple days ago I said that Blair was ignorant when he first started to ride along. Well, he's got nothing on me. I didn't have a *clue* until I read his journals. He writes everything down, he must be compulsive about it. Everyday mundane things, discoveries he's made, and his own thoughts and feelings. When I realized what I was reading, I tried to skip past the personal stuff, but I had no idea what might be important...

Oh, who am I trying to kid. I wouldn't be a detective if I wasn't curious. So what if I'm usually afraid of what I'm going to find out, that doesn't stop me. If I was a cat, I'd be dead by now.

I don't know whether to feel like shit, or feel elated. Somewhere in the middle is safest, but I don't think I can do that right now.

People think that Blair is weak. If they only knew what I know, they'd know they were idiots, too. I don't mean physicallyBlair dispelled that idea, at least to me, pretty early on. Not intellectually either, pretty much everyone knows that he's a genius. Except maybe him. But emotionally... OK, so the last month has been pretty bad. Understatement of the year. But the last two years have been such an unqualified *disaster*, it's a wonder he held on this long.

The whole diss thing is a no-brainer. I knew that even when I was still acting like a Neanderthal about it. I've got to learn to control that, or it will kill him. And that'll kill me. I'm not talking about something simple like guilt killing me, either. I love the guy. I have for ages. Not from the first, I was as blind and willing to believe his facade as anyone back then. But the first time I got a glimmer of the *real* Blair Sandburg... The guy who could argue death in the face and keep his cool, when he had no idea if the cavalry was going to get there in time. The guy who wants to heal everyone, even the monstersand can still defend himself effectively when he needs to. Except against me... I'm the only one he's got no defense against. As many times as I've saved him, there are more times that I've nearly destroyed him. Sometimes even when I'm trying to save him, I'm killing him.

After I got him back at the fountain, he actually thought I didn't *care*. Of course he thought thatI was so fucking terrified that he'd find out how much I do care, that I did a fantastic job of hiding it. So the cracks in his heart and soul got just a little wider, while I congratulated myself on what a great job I was doing, acting 'normal'. And that went on for *months*. Why is he still here? Why didn't he slap together a diss, get his PhD and skip town? Or just grab the first expedition offer that came along? I don't know, and neither, apparently, does he. Just another miracle, I guess.

He aced the academy. Top in all his classes, just about. And he hated every minute of it. He knew he was totally unsuited for the job. Not the protecting, that comes as naturally to him as it does to me. But knowing that he might have to shoot to kill... he wrote about that a lot. Tried to work it out on paper before it really happened. But in the end, I guess the cracks were just too wide and he finally fell apart. And I nearly screwed up saving him that time, too. Another miracle, that he's still here.

He thinks that I don't need him, he honestly has no idea how many times he's saved me just by being there. Just by being himself.

He loves me (and I can't help but smile when I think that,) but he thinks that I couldn't love him. He was pretty plain in his journalshe's not talking about brotherly love. Neither am I. I guess there's a lot about my background I've never told him. Hell, I've barely told *myself*, how could he know?

We'll have to talk. But not now. He's got a lot of healing to do. And I've got to be careful. This is one time that the miracle *can't* backfire. Not when I've finally gotten him back.


	4. Home is a Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blair's thoughts following "Equilibrium".

I wake up, and Jim's still next to my bed. Of course, he's asleep now. No wonder-it's been a *long* day, and from the sound of things out in the ward, it's probably the middle of the night. I dozed a bit... but after a month of near-sleep, who can sleep a full night?

When I woke up earlier, Jim smiled like he'd just gotten the greatest present ever.

I wonder about that.

I mean, shouldn't he be pissed? I think I'd be pissed if a friend shot me. That's the last thing I remember clearly, the gun going off in my hand and Jim going down at my feet. Sure, I didn't mean to... I'd never hurt him on purpose.

...

But that's not really true, is it? I was about to kill myself... I know he doesn't really need me anymore, but still, I'm sure it would have hurt him. I was just too intent on *escaping* to think of that, earlier. I'm glad he stopped me before I got the chance to hurt him, that way.

It's strange. I remember it all like it was yesterday. To me it practically *was* yesterday, I only have vague impressions of the last month. But I don't feel the same... desperation. fear. panic. despair... that I felt before. If it was yesterday, shouldn't I feel the same? Not that I mind. It's just... strange.

I guess my job at the PD is over. They won't let me carry a gun again. And there's no way I can come up with a reason to ride along, without the diss as an excuse. I wonder... maybe it's time for me to move on.

...

Come on. Slow, steady, deep breaths. This isn't the time for a panic attack, not if I want to get out of here before I collect social security.

Where did that come from? As if I didn't know-I don't want to leave home. I don't mean the loft, that's just a place. A nice place, but that's not *it*. It's Jim. Even this sterile hospital room is home, with him here. I wish I could tell him that, but I'm afraid I might say too much. If I've got a hope of keeping my home, I've got to be careful.

That's experience talking, of course. He's already kicked me out once. Nearly got me killed, too. Maybe I do belong here, if I still want to be around him after that... but I understand why he did it. And I know he was sorry for it, as hard as he tried to hide it. After all, he came after me, brought me back. That counts for something... right?

He didn't really say, but I got the impression that something like that happened again. That he came after me again, and that's why I'm awake now. Well, it's not why I'm awake at 3am; but it's why I can *be* awake, aware, at whatever hour.

...

I guess... he must really want me around. Could he? He's brought me back, twice. The first time could have been guilt, but this time was all my fault. Why would he bring me back, if he didn't want me back? Well, that could just be an instinct to protect. But... he's here, when he could be at home, in bed. That's got to be more comfortable, no matter how much padding is on that chair. At least it's got a high back, maybe he won't wake up with a sore neck.

I wonder if he knows his hand is on my arm? Maybe he moved it in his sleep. Jim hasn't touched me much in a while. He still buddy-slaps me, and his arm is always blocking me whenever we go around a corner in the truck; but the casual arm around the shoulders is long gone.

A couple months ago, a guy we were bringing down got me in the side of the head with his foot. After we got him cuffed Jim checked me over, just like he always has. When he knew I was OK, he almost flinched back.

I thought he was mad at me, that's why he didn't want to touch me. I mean, I wouldn't expect it from most guys, but Jim's always been a touchy kind of guy. In every sense of the word.

The warmth, the contact of his hand is comforting. Maybe a little more sleep wouldn't hurt...


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: rev·e·la·tion (rèv´e-lâ¹shen) noun
> 
> 1\. a. The act of revealing or disclosing. b. Something revealed, especially a dramatic disclosure of something not previously known or realized.
> 
> Sequel to "Home Is A Person".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Holly and my Mom for beta reading; and Roland E. Erikson, M.D. for the Psychiatric beta. All remaining errors, oversights and obfuscations are the fault of myself and my muse.

Blair returned to his room after art therapy and was surprised to find Jim there, reading the newspaper. "Hey, man, what're you still doing here? I figured you'd be out of here hours ago."

"Hey, Chief." Jim looked up from the sports section. "How was therapy?"

Blair hopped onto the bed. He'd been awake for just three days and was moving around normally, albeit a little more slowly than his usual speed due to residual stiffness. He grabbed the front section of the paper off the bedside table as he answered. "OK, I guess. It's group therapy with pictures instead of words." Blair shrugged. "Seriously, doesn't Simon need you to get back to the station? You've been gone a while, man."

"Go back without you?" Jim grimaced and shook his head. "He'd never let me out in the field. And you *know* how I feel about paperwork."

"Jim, man, if you're waiting for me to go back to the station..." Blair looked away and began to crumple the newspaper in his hands. "Look, don't worry about it. I'll talk to Simon, explain that you don't really need a guide anymore. You can go back and you won't be stuck at a desk."

"Don't need you? Chief, without you I'm a zone waiting to happen-"

"Jim, you haven't zoned in months! Years, even." Blair shot a glance up to Jim before looking away again. He appreciated the excuse, but he no longer had the luxury of allowing Jim to keep up the pretense that he was needed.

"That's just because you're always there, buddy. Having you around sort of automatically grounds me." Jim set down the paper he'd been reading and looked intently at Blair.

Blair looked up in surprise. "Why didn't you tell me? Never mind, when do you ever tell me these things?" he added with a fond reproof. "Well, we'll work something out. I'm sure there's some sort of exercises I can work out for you-"

"Blair. No." Jim's voice was quiet, but emphatic. "I'm not going back without you."

Blair sat quietly, trying to make himself say what Jim needed to hear. He couldn't do it. "Jim, I-I'm not sure if I can go back." His voice dropped to a whisper.

Jim smiled. "I know. That's fine, I already told Simon there was a good chance we wouldn't be back."

"Jim." Blair looked up with a puzzled frown. Jim was too accepting, didn't he understand what Blair meant? He should be upset about his cowardice. "Man, you're a *cop*. A sentinel. You belong on the force, you protect people, you..." Blair's voice cracked slightly as he continued, "...this is a lifetime thing for you, you can't drop it just because I won't be there. Look, I'll talk to Megan. She knows the score, maybe I can show her how-"

"Blair, you're not getting it." The concern showed in Jim's voice. "I'm not going back without you."

"But, man... you're going to regret this. You'll just end up blaming me." Blair's emotions were too close to the surface, he couldn't control them. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears started to fall.

"No, Blair. What I regret is that I've allowed my job to kill half of my soul for the last two years-" Jim cut his words off as he saw that Blair had started to cry. "Hey, buddy, what's wrong?"

"I c-can't let you d-do this..." Blair dropped the mangled newspaper to the bed and leaned forward to hide his face in his hands.

"Blair, it's OK... it's OK. *Really*." Jim paused as he searched for words to convince and comfort his friend. "I've let you get hurt enough. It's no sacrifice to me if we find something else to do with my abilities. Look, I'm on leave right now anyway. There's nothing final about my not going to work today, and it wasn't fair for me to spring this on you so soon."

"I can't go b-back man, I just can't!" If anything, Blair's crying had grown stronger.

"I know, Blair. You want to talk about it?" Blair shook his head. Jim wasn't surprised, so far Blair had avoided any discussion of the events leading to his hospitalization. "All right. Just let it out, you'll feel better." Jim hoped that was true. The sight of Blair sitting alone on the bed disturbed him, so he moved to sit next to his friend. After a moment's hesitation, he gently laid one hand on the other man's shoulder.They stayed that way for a while.

Blair's deep sobs finally trailed off. He raised his head but didn't look at Jim. "Sorry about that."

"Nothing to be sorry about." Jim produced a handkerchief and offered it to Blair. "Feel better?"

Blair took the handkerchief, made a cursory attempt to clean his face and blew his nose. He finally answered, "Some. I don't know where that came from, though."

"You don't? I think it came from an enormous amount of stress, combined with a lack of support from your clueless partner. That's just a non-professional opinion, of course," Jim joked, hoping to distract Blair.

"Jim, it's not funny, man," Blair said in a tired voice. "It's no wonder you don't want to work with me if I fall apart over nothing."

"Hey, who said anything about not working with you? I thought the whole point of our conversation is that I *do* want to work with you."

"You said you *need* me, Jim," Blair pointed out. "That's not the same thing."

Jim frowned for a moment. "You're right, it did sound that way. My mistake-I need you, but I also *want* to work with you. Is that clear?"

Blair nodded hesitantly.

"Furthermore," Jim continued, "I haven't seen you fall apart at 'nothing'. I've seen you *not* fall apart over a lot of very big things. It takes a lot to take you down; it didn't happen until you hit your limits. You just need to let me know what those limits are, so that we can both work within them. OK?"

"Jim, that's not fair to you. Why should you have to conform to my limits? You can do so much more."

"Blair, you've always worked with my limits. Every time you run into one, you adjust. It's just time for me to do some adjusting, too. This is a partnership, got it?"

Blair nodded. He still looked unconvinced, but Jim hoped it was a start.

"If you wash your face you'll probably feel better," Jim suggested.

Blair nodded again and headed into the bathroom. A moment later, Jim heard a choked exclamation from the other room. He chuckled quietly and followed his friend. Leaning casually in the doorway he inquired, "Something wrong?"

Blair stared at his reflection in the mirror. "*How* did I end up with raccoon eyes?"

"Ummm, cheap mascara?" Jim ducked as Blair spun around to smack him; the blow landed lightly on his broad back.

"Jim! I-you-you're really a jerk sometimes, you know?" Blair sputtered and turned back to the mirror, quickly soaping a washcloth and scrubbing his face.

"Yeah, Chief." Jim let his smile show. "Just make sure you get all the *newsprint* off your hands while you're at it."

Blair stared at Jim via the mirror then laughed, a little shakily at first, then more strongly as Jim joined in. He cleaned off the newsprint then returned to the bed. "I'm feeling a little wiped, man. I think I'll just lie down for a while." He lowered the head of the bed, kicked off his shoes and curled on his side on top of the covers.

Jim settled back into the chair, picking up the newspaper he'd been reading earlier. "Sounds like a plan. I'll run out in a little while and get us something for lunch. How does Ming's sound to you?" Jim asked, naming a restaurant just down the street from the hospital.

"That sounds good, Jim. But, the food here is fine, really."

"If I'm getting myself something, there's no reason for you to suffer by yourself."

Blair was already starting to doze off. "Thanks, Jim..."

Jim watched Blair for a few minutes. "You're welcome, Blair," he murmured, before returning to the sports section.

* * *

Blair slept for several hours, finally waking just past noon. Bags of Chinese take-out sat on the bedside table, he supposed that the smell had awakened him. Jim was turned toward the TV, watching a gameshow with the sound nearly off. "Hey, Jim. Have you eaten yet?" Blair stretched until he heard his spine pop. Turning to face him, Jim made no effort to hide his grimace at the sound. "Sorry, man. Sleeping four weeks makes a guy a little stiff. I hope you weren't waiting on me for lunch?"

"I just got back a few minutes ago. I figured it wouldn't take long for the sweet &amp; sour chicken to wake you. It looks like I was right." Jim pondered his friend for a moment. "You look like you're feeling better."

"I am feeling better." Blair was mildly surprised at the truth of his statement. "I feel sort of like I got rid of a huge weight, you know?" Blair fell silent. Jim sensed that he was working something through and waited. After a few minutes, Blair asked, "Did you mean it?"

Jim knew what Blair meant, but said the words anyway. "That I want to work with you? Yeah, Chief, I mean it. There's nobody else I've been happier to work with than you."

"Wow. That's just... that's great, Jim, really, but it's sort of hard to believe, you know?"

"Why's that? You're a great partner, and I like having you around. At work, and at home."

"Jim, I don't want to sound obtuse, but you haven't exactly been acting that way." Blair looked questioningly at Jim.

Jim wanted to deny it, but looking at Blair, at that moment, he knew he couldn't lie. He was still afraid to tell the truth, and the struggle showed on his face.

Doubt crept onto Blair's face. "Jim?"

Jim knew he had to say something, and struggled to find something true that he could say. "Blair." He stopped for a moment, then restarted. "Blair... you're right. I'm a jerk. For a while, ever since... the fountain. I've been so afraid of *losing* you again, that I've been hiding from you. I know that doesn't make sense..." Jim's voice trailed off, he'd run out of words and hoped that would be enough.

"Fear based responses." Blair's voice was almost a whisper.

Jim heaved a sigh in relief. "Yeah, I guess. I didn't notice before. What I was doing, I mean." A frightened look grew in Jim's eyes as he realized the consequences if Blair couldn't forgive him. "I'm sorry, Blair."

"Jim, why did you bring me back?" There was no condemnation in Blair's voice, only curiosity.

Jim was thrown by the change of subject. "What?"

"When I was catatonic, why did you bring me back?" Blair amended, "you did bring me back, didn't you? I have these memories-I was sort of trapped in a pit and you came to get me out. I know they aren't real, but it feels kind of the same as what happened when I drowned."

"You remember," Jim said quietly. "I didn't think you would."

"Do you regret it?" Blair blurted out, almost as a single word.

"No!" Jim vigorously denied. "Never! I just didn't think... I mean, Dr. Burke said you'd remember things that happened. But, I wasn't sure. And I'm not sure that what I did brought you back, it could have been the ECT," he explained.

"No, man, it wasn't the ECT. It was you. I remember the ECT. It was good, I felt better, but I still didn't want to come back. Not until I saw you come for me. So, why?" Blair returned to the question.

This time, Jim answered without thinking. "Because I can't live without you." Jim turned away in acute embarrassment.

Blair gasped in shock. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Jim's voice was quiet and contained a hint of a growl.

"Thank you, Jim." Blair's voice was filled with awe at the admission from his friend.

Jim turned back and studied Blair's face for a moment before replying, "You're welcome. So, I think we'd better eat before I have to track down a microwave to reheat this stuff."

Blair accepted the change of subject with a smile. "Sounds good, man."

* * *

At 2pm, Blair entered Dr. Burke's office. The room was comfortably furnished in the style of a private library, a very different environment than the pleasant but much more clinical look of the rest of the ward.

The focus was on a trio of maroon leather easy chairs, two of them facing each other and the third a little off to one side. Under the chairs lay an Oriental rug of rich colors. The overhead fluorescent bulbs were off; light was provided by a large window that overlooked the city park across the street and a pair of table lamps near the chairs. A desk sat unobtrusively in one corner, family photos and a brass lamp occupied the surface. A few small Monet prints hung on the walls, the remaining wall space was taken by bookcases. Many of the books were technical, but others could be identified as old leather-bound classics. Blair supposed it was meant to put patients at ease and inspire confidences.

Dr. Burke was seated in one of the pair of facing chairs. He looked up from the file he was studying and smiled as Blair entered. "Blair, welcome! Please, have a seat. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Burke focused his attention on Blair.

"Fine. I really feel good today, Doctor."

"That's good, can you tell me what's changed?"

Blair was startled. His answer had been essentially the same since Friday; this was the first time that Dr. Burke reacted as if he believed it. "Well, I finally understood what was really bothering me, and I found out that it's not something I need to worry about."

"What was bothering you?"

"I... can't really say."

Dr. Burke tried another approach. "So, was this related to either of the shootings?"

Blair flinched slightly at the last word. "Not directly. The... shootings... just sort of made the problem seem more likely to happen."

"The shootings haven't gone away, Blair. What has changed, that this problem no longer concerns you?"

"I didn't have all the information before." Thinking of his earlier conversation with Jim, Blair couldn't stop a big smile from appearing on his face.

Dr. Burke looked skeptical. "This must be quite some information you learned," he prompted.

Blair wouldn't be budged. The smile remained in place, and he replied with a simple "Yup!"

"Is this something you have control over?"

Blair's smile faltered. "I'm not sure I understand your question?"

Dr. Burke elaborated. "Are you confident that this information will not change in the future? Is it something you can rely on? I ask because, if your recovery is grounded on your expectations of another person, it may not last."

Blair considered the Doctor's point. It made sense, but did it really apply to the unique relationship he and Jim had? He'd been touched by Jim's statement in part because it put words to his own feelings. On the other hand, Jim had demonstrated in the past that he could live without Blair. Or had he? In every case, Jim's efforts to push Blair away had, eventually, been matched by his efforts to bring Blair back. It was unstable ground, but with enough confidence in himself and patience for Jim, he knew it was as stable as anything he could achieve by himself. However, this wasn't the time or place to voice his opinions. Dr. Burke was waiting for him to speak; perhaps it was time to exercise his neglected obfuscation skills. "I think I see what you're saying. Instead of relying on someone else, I need to know I'll be OK no matter how things go with this issue in the future."

Dr. Burke smiled. "Exactly. Since you're reluctant to talk about the issue and person, before our next session I'd like you to give some thought to what qualities you may feel that you lack, for which this person helps you compensate. Now, how would you feel about continuing your therapy as an outpatient?"

Blair's smile reappeared at full force. "Really? That'd be great! Why now? I mean, not that I disagree or anything, but I've been, you know, awake for several days."

"Coming out of the catatonic state was only the first step of your recovery. In the last few days you've shown significant improvement in your depression, and have indicated that you are no longer a threat to your own safety. Let me clarify that if you do leave the hospital, I'd like you to continue with your antidepressant medication for six weeks or more, as well as continuing the psychotherapy sessions. Will you have any problem with that?"

"Not a problem, Doctor. Even if I wanted to skip out my roommate, Jim, would make sure I was here." Blair grinned in fond annoyance.

"All right. We'll see about getting you set up with an outpatient schedule and a prescription, and maybe you'll be home by tonight."

* * *

That night Blair wandered through the living room of the loft handling random objects from the bookshelves and coffee table. "It was nice of Simon to treat us to dinner, but I'd have been just as happy eating take-out here. It's weird, I sort of feel like I've been gone just a few days-but I miss this place just like I've been gone for a month!" Blair sat on the couch with a happy sigh. "So... when are you going to tell me what's going on?"

With a deliberately casual tone Jim replied, "What do you mean?"

Blair snorted. "You want me to make a list? OK, front and center-why'd Simon give us a ride home from the hospital? Your truck is parked out front, I don't see casts on any of your limbs, so... what's going on?"

Jim sat on the other couch facing Blair. "It's just temporary. I had a couple of seizures-"

Blair leaped out of his seat. "Seizures?? When, Jim? What caused them? My God, have you seen a doctor about them?"

"It's *no big deal*, Blair," Jim insisted. "I had *two* seizures while you were in the hospital. Both occurred *exactly* as you were getting your ECT treatment. I think that's how I was able to reach you. The first one happened while I was in the waiting room of the hospital, or I wouldn't have seen a doctor. And my driver's license wouldn't have been suspended," Jim added in annoyance.

"Geez, Jim. So, except for the two seizures, nothing else strange has happened? Your senses are OK?" Blair settled into a familiar pacing/lecturing mode.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Jim grumbled.

"And they both happened just as I got the ECT?"

"I don't have any proof of that, but it'd be a heck of a coincidence otherwise. Both seizures happened while you were in the treatment room, at about the same time the ECT was performed. The first time, I could sense you nearby. The second time, I think you probably know about as much as I do. I was in a-"

"Wait, Jim. Don't tell me! I want you to write it all down, and I'll write down what I experienced. I want a chance to compare the two without being influenced by what you tell me. This is fascinating! I wonder if it's a sentinel thing. I've never read anything like it..."

Jim snorted. "Sandburg, I don't think they *do* ECT in the jungle, you know?"

"Yeah, but Jim, it could have occurred in other, similar situations. Like, when one of the pair was running a high fever, or seriously injured or something."

Jim stared at Blair with a look of dread. "You'd better not be planning to run tests on this, Sandburg."

"No, no tests," Blair agreed, waving his arms in a distracted manner. "Too dangerous, without the right kind of medical backup. It's just really interesting, you know? They didn't happen to run any tests on you during the seizure?" Blair added with a hopeful look on his face.

"Sorry, Blair. They tried, but 60 seconds wasn't enough notice to assemble the testing gear," Jim answered dryly.

The sarcasm completely missed Blair. "Nuts. Well, if it ever happens again, maybe-"

"Blair!" Jim's face skipped past dread to settle on alarm.

"Oh! Sorry, man. Yeah. No tests. So, how long 'til you can drive again?"

Jim tried to sound casual. "No more than six months."

"Six months? Jim, man, you'd better let me drive the truck, you'll be a pretzel after six months in the Volvo!" Blair crowed.

"Laugh it up, short stuff!" Jim growled at his friend as he stood and walked toward Blair. He lunged.

"J-I-I-I-M! No fair *tickling*!" Blair shouted as he struggled to return the attack.

Several minutes later, both men were collapsed on their backs on the floor, panting.

"Way to wipe a guy out, Jim," Blair complained between gasps.

Jim tried to steady his own breathing. "Just part of my evil plot to get you to bed early, so I can have the remote all to myself."

"If you wanted the remote," gasp, "you could have left me in the hospital."

Suddenly serious, Jim rolled onto his elbows to face Blair. "I'm not leaving you anywhere, Chief. You belong here. Or maybe in the shower... you stink!"

"Gee, Jim, I always knew you cared." Blair stuck his tongue out and maneuvered to his feet. "A shower! In our bathroom! Real hot water!" he rhapsodized as he headed for his room.

"You'd better leave some of that hot water for me!" Jim called out after him.

* * *

The following day dawned cold and rainy. The two men spent the day in normal weekend activities, ignoring the small detail that it was a Tuesday. Running errands and catching up on the housework Jim had neglected during the previous month kept them busy most of the day. They planned to spend the evening watching a classic western marathon on video, but the activity of the day caught up with Blair early, sending him to bed after the first movie. Jim headed upstairs not long after, assuming that the effects of a month of stress and relative inactivity had conspired to tire him out as well.

The next morning, Blair woke to a quiet loft and bright sunlight streaming through the windows. It puzzled him for a moment; Jim was not known for sleeping late and he was never so quiet in the morning. Then he realized that the beautiful weather must have lured the older man out for a morning run. Satisfied with this explanation he considered the merits of sleeping a bit longer. He snuggled back under his soft, warm, wool blankets; they were courtesy of Naomi's last trip to Israel, and infinitely more satisfying than the thinner acrylic blankets used by the hospital. He was just drifting back to sleep when he heard a strangled whimper from somewhere in the loft. Without thinking he flipped back his covers, pulled on the blue plaid bathrobe he'd left draped over the back of his desk chair and hurried out to the living room.

"Jim?" he called softly, not certain that he hadn't just imagined or dreamt the sound.

Another whimper, this time clearly from the direction of Jim's bedroom. Blair hurried up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and nearly tripping in his haste. He did succeed in stubbing his big toe on the top stair.

"Jim? &lt;ouch!&gt;, What's wrong?" He was still speaking quietly in case the other man was simply dreaming. There was no reaction. Jim lay on the bed, sheets and blankets strewn all over, his face contorted with fear. Thinking that the other man was having a nightmare, Blair moved to the side of the bed and gently shook Jim's shoulder to wake him. The reaction was instantaneous and frightening.

Jim sat up with a shout that might have been Blair's name, grabbing Blair's wrist with both hands and holding it tightly. His eyes shot open, but instead of looking at Blair they were moving around the room almost randomly. Blair started and would have jumped back, but Jim's grasp held him in place. After a moment, his wildly beating heart began to slow to a normal pace. "Shit, Jim, what's wrong?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. It was pretty obvious that Jim could not see him. It was likely that his hearing was also off-line, since he hadn't reacted until Blair touched him. Blair sat on the bed and looked around the room, trying to determine if anything there was the cause of the problem.

Everything looked the same as it had on Blair's previous visits upstairs, except for a small prescription bottle on the nightstand. Blair picked it up to read the label, squinting to see it clearly. "Dilantin... filled February 28? That's two days ago! Jim, what the hell is this?" Blair thought for a moment, then set down the bottle to pick up the phone.

"Forensics, please," he replied when the phone was answered. A moment later Blair continued, "Hey Serena, this is Blair. Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, do you have a minute to do me a favor? Could you check one of your books and tell me what the drug 'Dilantin' is prescribed for? Yeah, I'll hold on."

"Really? What're the side effects? Uh-huh. Yeah. Thanks a million, Serena. I really owe you one. Lunch? Sure. Maybe next week though, things are a little busy here right now. Yeah, I'll give you a call." Blair disconnected and laid the phone down.

In a conversational voice he addressed the unhearing sentinel who still held his arm in a death-grip. "All right, Jim. We're going to get through this. Then I'm going to kill you for taking this shit. What were you thinking, man? Anti-convulsants? When you know that those seizures weren't anything medically related? And a list of side effects like that? You're really looking to just scare the shit out of me, aren't you."

Jim had calmed considerably since making contact with Blair, but Blair wasn't sure he wanted to go through the day with the larger man as a bracelet. Besides, there were certain basic needs that both men had to tend to. Blair stood and tugged on one of Jim's arms with his free hand. As he'd hoped, Jim followed him off the bed. Leading him past the closet, he stopped briefly to grab jeans and a sweater. A stop at the dresser for socks, and they were ready to head downstairs.

At the top step, Blair realized they had a problem. Both of Jim's hands were still holding his right wrist, and his left arm was full of Jim's clothing. Jim was walking a little unsteadily, and Blair wasn't confident that Jim's grasp on his arm would be sufficient for navigating the stairs. //This is like that old logic puzzle,// Blair thought, //except instead of a rowboat to carry a carnivore, an herbivore and a vegetable across the river, I have two arms to transport one sense-impaired sentinel and a pile of clothes down the stairs. It's going to take more than one arm to lead Jim down the stairs in this condition. Oh well, what he doesn't know, won't hurt him.// With that thought, Blair threw the clothes over the railing, freeing up both hands to help his friend.

Once they reached the much smaller space of the bathroom, Blair was able to convince Jim to let go of him and take care of things on his own. The moment the door was shut behind him, Blair rushed to the living room to grab up Jim's clothes and pile them on the kitchen table. Then he hurried into his own room and replaced his bathrobe with jeans and a flannel shirt.

Aware that he had only a few more minutes at most before Jim needed him, he considered the options for communication. He knew a little sign language, but he wasn't sure that Jim did. Anyway, how did it work when the person was blind as well? Sign spelling, maybe? OK, that was a longshot option. The tapping of his fingers on the desk reminded him of Morse code. He didn't know it, but Jim might. And wasn't there a chart of it in that communications textbook he'd kept? Blair dove into the cramped space under the futon frame, searching for the book. Halfway under, he found something better. "Scrabble! I'd forgotten I had this." He hauled the old board game out, just in time to hear the bathroom door open.

Blair led Jim to the kitchen table, and showed him where his clothes were. Then he spelled out DRESS AND WAIT HERE with the game tiles and ran Jim's fingers over them. To his relief, Jim nodded. Without thinking, Blair gave him a quick hug around the shoulders, then hurried into the bathroom to relieve his own bladder and brush his teeth. He quickly ran a brush through his hair, happy for once that it was still relatively short. Returning to Jim, he saw that the other man was dressed and had found something to do. The score pad and pencil were out of the Scrabble box, and Jim had already written something down. Blair hurried back into his bedroom for his glasses. He returned to the table and pulled another chair around to Jim's side of it. Blair settled down to read the first question.

"'What time is it?' Good, basic stuff first." Blair spelled out NINE and grabbed Jim's hand to show him the letters. To his surprise, Jim jumped and nearly fell out of his chair before settling down with a glower aimed more or less in Blair's direction. "Duh! Good one, Blair, startle him when he can't see or hear anything." He quickly spelled out SORRY, then gently patted the other man's hand before leading it to the words.

"Next question-'What happened?' I need something to eat before we get into *that* one." He spelled FOOD FIRST THEN ANSWERS. Jim nodded at this, so Blair went to the kitchen and returned with bagels and juice. They ate, then resumed the conversation.

SIDE EFFECTS OF NEW DRUG, Blair spelled in answer to Jim's last question. Y DIDNT U TELL ME

"Thought it would be OK," Jim wrote in reply.

Blair wished he had a way to communicate his anger over Jim's carelessness. DID U READ THE DRUG INFO

Jim nodded his head then wrote, "It said blurred vision possible. That's all."

Blair shook his head in frustration. U SHOULD HAVE TALKED TO ME.HOW R SENSES

"Sight &amp; hearing are messed up. Taste &amp; smell OK but just at normal levels. Touch is OK but have pins &amp; needles."

GO TO HOSPITAL

Jim shook his head vehemently and wrote, "NO. If side effects too strange, we'll get too many questions. I'm not sick. Wait for it to wear off."

Blair expected this response; he'd meant the hospital statement as a question anyway. OK TELL ME IF IT GETS WORSECAN U TALK

"Don't want to, can't hear myself."

Blair replied OK and left it at that.

Over the course of the day, the tingling in Jim's extremities increased to the point that he could barely read the Scrabble tiles. He didn't know any sign language, and Blair wasn't sure it would be any easier to feel than the Scrabble tiles anyway. Fortunately, they discovered that he could read letters spelled out against the palm of his hand.

They spent a very long, frustrating day with Blair's conversation as Jim's only entertainment. Meals were sandwiches and other easy fingerfoods that didn't require vision or a good sense of touch to eat. Finally, it was late in the evening and they both began to yawn, probably from boredom as much as anything else, Blair thought.

"tired?" Blair spelled. At least this method of communication allowed more punctuation.

Jim nodded.

"bed?"

Jim shook his head.

"y not?" Blair asked.

Jim reached for the notebook Blair had given him that morning. He was sure that his decreased sense of touch made his writing clumsier, so he'd mostly abandoned it later in the day. "Don't want to be alone," he wrote as embarrassment flamed across his face.

"couches?" Blair suggested.

Jim frowned.

Blair realized that Jim had no way to know that he wasn't alone, unless they were close enough to touch. "want me 2 sleep with u?"

Jim nodded his head, his face reddening further.

"OK. Wait here." Blair ran upstairs and after several minutes of rummaging through Jim's dresser, found shorts and a T-shirt that Jim could wear as pajamas. Blair hurried back downstairs. Placing the clothes in Jim's hands, he led him to the bathroom. While Jim was getting ready for bed, Blair found a set of clean sweats to sleep in.

When they were both ready for bed, Blair led Jim upstairs. Jim's king-sized bed suddenly seemed much smaller. At first, each man lay stiffly on his side of the bed, wide-awake and uncomfortable. After a while, Jim's hand slid across the bed and bumped lightly into Blair. Blair took hold of the wandering hand, and both men began to relax. A short time later, they were both asleep.

In the middle of the night, Blair woke from a disturbing dream that featured him losing a wrestling match to an octopus. It didn't take long for him to figure out what had triggered the dream-Jim was wrapped snugly around him, his face buried in the back of Blair's neck. While the situation was not unpleasant, it was definitely not something Blair had expected.

Blair considered untangling himself from Jim. The other man would certainly reach new heights of embarrassment if he knew he was using Blair as an oversized teddy bear. But if the dream had a basis in fact, any attempt was probably a lost cause. Hoping Jim would let go on his own before he woke up, Blair ruthlessly ignored his body's reaction to the situation and finally drifted back to sleep.

The next time Blair woke, it was light enough to see Jim's face just inches from his own. Since he'd managed to roll over, Jim had apparently loosened his hold at some point during the night. But he still held Blair firmly in place with an arm and leg each draped over the smaller man's body.

Blair was still considering the options for extricating himself when Jim's nostrils flared and he murmured Blair's name. As Blair stared in amazement, Jim moved closer and briefly caressed Blair's morning stubbled cheek with his own before pressing his lips to Blair's. The contact lasted only a moment, then Jim moved away to a distance that could be measured in millimeters.

Blair was stunned. Jim's eyes had never opened, but he'd obviously detected Blair's presence by scent. Jim appeared to be soundly asleep, but it was no woman he was dreaming of, unless her name was Blair. Blair's mind spun in circles. He desperately wanted to reach the obvious conclusion, but was terrified of the consequences if he was wrong. He made an anxious attempt to release himself from Jim's hold and began to hyperventilate.

The sound of Blair's panic woke Jim. He let go of his friend and maneuvered to help Blair sit up. "Blair? What's wrong?" He moved back to give Blair room to breathe, but stayed close enough to leave one hand on his knee. He waited patiently as the other man's breathing calmed. "You OK now?" he finally asked.

"Yeah, just a little claustrophobic, I guess," Blair answered, with just a faint wheeze to his breathing.

"I guess I should have warned you, Carolyn always said I was a space hog."

Blair was inexplicably calmed by this reminder that his best friend had been married and was straight, and he was able to think clearly. "Your senses are better this morning."

Jim nodded. "Yes, except my sight is still sort of off."

"Off how?"

Jim squinted. "It's a little blurry and, unless there's two of you, I'm seeing double."

"I'm pretty sure there's only one of me." Blair smiled in relief at the obvious improvement. "Good. Your side effects are down to normal. Now's the perfect time to go see Dr. Rollins."

"Why? Everything's getting better, what can she do about it?"

"Jim, you are *not* taking another dose of that FDA-approved poison. And your doctor has to know you've decided to stop taking it, unless you're planning for it to be a surprise at your next appointment?"

"Why not?" Jim grumbled.

"Because it'll be a lot easier to explain if she sees how it's affecting you. Besides, I want to make sure it's not harming you in other ways," Blair explained.

"All right, it's not like we've got anything else to do today. We've got time for breakfast first, right?"

"We will if you stop arguing." Blair grinned.

* * *

As Blair expected, Dr. Rollins took Jim off the medication. He was relieved when she recommended that they wait to see if there were any more seizures before trying another drug. Predictably, Jim growled about the indignities his truck would suffer during six months of 'Sandburg's driving'. Blair thought that Jim was probably relieved to have an excuse to spend the next six months keeping an eye on him, but figured that was one opinion that he did not need to share.

The side effects that Jim had suffered cleared up quickly, and for a few days their leave from the PD was almost like a vacation. When the unusual amount of free time grew stale, Blair convinced Jim to join him in volunteering at an after-school program that needed tutors and mentors. Jim discovered that he actually enjoyed helping the kids with their schoolwork and teaching them the finer points of basketball.

Blair loved acting as a teacher again, but found that it wasn't enough to keep his mind busy. As the weeks passed, he found he was constantly worrying over the same thought-the brief dream-kiss Jim had given him and what it might mean.

Several times Jim caught Blair standing motionless, staring into space. He could be a patient man when the situation wasn't life threatening, so he waited.

One evening Blair was up to his elbows in dishwater, in what Jim had come to think of as a Sandburg-zone. "Chief, are you trying to think those dishes clean?"

"Mmm? Oh, yeah." Blair distractedly handed a plate to Jim.

Jim watched Blair resume his motionless pose. This odd behavior had gone on for nearly six weeks. Jim told himself he wasn't really worried, but it was happening with increasing frequency. "So, Blair, what's with the zone-outs?"

Blair blinked and looked at Jim. "What zone-outs? I haven't seen you zone once in-"

"Not me, buddy, *you*."

Blair gaped at Jim. "*Me*? You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. You're either zoning or napping with your eyes open. So out with it. What's got you so distracted?"

"Oh, that. Jim, I was just thinking. Nothing important, you know?"

Jim cocked an eyebrow at his friend. "Nothing important yet you obsess over it for six weeks. Tell me another one, Chief."

"Really, Jim, I don't see what you're getting so worked up about." Blair dropped the dishcloth into the sink with a *splat* and stalked to the refrigerator. Slapping his hands on his jeans to get the worst of the soap and water off, he opened the fridge and pulled out a can of ginger ale.

Jim watched the performance and fixed a questioning gaze on Blair.

"What??" Blair demanded as he opened the can.

Jim continued to look at Blair, adding just a touch of the patented Ellison interrogation stare to it.

"Aw, man, don't *do* that." Blair rolled his eyes, walked into the living room and settled on the couch.

"Don't do what?" Jim asked mildly. Drying his own hands on the dishtowel, he followed Blair to sit on the other side of the couch.

"Do you plan to follow me around all night?"

"Nope. Just until you tell me what's bugging you."

"Who said anything was bugging me?"

"You did just now, when you avoided me."

Blair snapped, "Jim, not everyone is a crook who needs to be interrogated."

"And now you're avoiding the subject," Jim countered mildly.

"Jim, trust me. There are some things you just don't need to know."

Jim considered that. "That's fair. But if you won't talk to me about it, will you promise to talk to Dr. Burke?"

"No way, man." Blair waved his hands in a negating gesture, nearly spilling his soda in the process. "There are some things he *definitely* doesn't need to know."

"Now you're really getting me worried, Chief. What could be so bad that you can't talk to Burke or me? You've got to tell someone, this is starting to get really weird. Zoning is my job, not yours."

"You really are worried, aren't you." Blair stared at Jim as if trying to see what he was thinking.

"That's what I just said, Blair."

"What if I told you it's really nothing to worry about? I mean, not anything serious."

"Blair..." Jim frowned at his friend in frustration.

"All right, fine. Have it your way. But first you have to promise that you won't freak out on me."

"What?"

"Just promise you won't freak out, man."

"Right. OK, I won't freak out. Now, what's bugging you?"

"OK." Blair got up and started pacing around the living room. "Remember your promise, OK, Jim?"

"Yes, I'll remember. Could you just *tell* me already?" The muscle in Jim's jaw started to jump. He was sure that Blair was trying to drive him crazy to avoid answering the question.

Blair stopped suddenly and blurted out, "What did it mean when you kissed me?"

Jim stared. It took several seconds for his brain to come back online. His first thought was //kiss? I kissed Blair? No. I'd remember something like that.// What he said was "Blair, how long have you been hallucinating?"

Blair's curls, which had grown longer in the last few months, whipped wildly as he shook his head. "I'm not hallucinating. That night that we, uh, shared your bed, when your senses were all messed up? I woke up and you were, um, smelling me. Then you said my name and you-kissed me. You weren't awake but..." Blair's voice trailed off in apprehension and he stared at Jim, waiting for an indication of what the bigger man might do.

Jim returned the stare. He tried frantically to assemble enough coherency to communicate. "I-uh-that-that wasn't just a dream." He said it almost as a question.

Blair bounced in place nervously. "No man, it wasn't. What did it mean?"

Jim swallowed and blinked several times. "What-er, what do you want it to mean?"

"No way, man. I answered your question, now you answer mine." Blair was still nervous, but adamant.

"Well, it means," Jim glanced around as if looking for an escape route. "It means I-I love you. And I'm attracted to you."

Blair's knees gave out under him in pure relief and he sat on the floor. Jim rushed over and knelt next to him, taking hold of his face and looking worriedly into his eyes. "Blair, are you OK?"

Blair gazed back at Jim, studying his expression. He lightly placed his own hands over the other man's hands. He was speechless for a moment longer then replied, "Kiss me again?"

Jim's frightened scowl flowed into a smile. Then he leaned over and their lips touched.

The End


End file.
